


Three First Times

by Annehiggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 07:21:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/549032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three separate vignettes about how Dean and Sam got together the first time. Stories 2 and 3 can be seen as follow-ups to story 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three First Times

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on Live Journal Feb. 26, 2006 with the following note: While the first short deals with Dean having sexy visions from puberty on, all of the stories have absolutely no underaged-sex or underaged-incest in them.
> 
> Mildly AU in that a certain scene in "Route 66" and any implications from it never happened in at least one of these stories.

  
**Three First Times**  
By Anne Higgins

**I. Phantom from the Future**

Dean Winchester had been eighteen for two hours and ten minutes the first time his brother fucked him. It didn't really matter how old Sam Winchester was because the fourteen-year-old kid setting up a Battleship game in the next room had nothing to do with the adult who suddenly appeared in Dean's bedroom to literally swept him off his feet and onto his bed.

He should have been freaked out, should have fought against the long body pressing him down to the mattress. Instead for the first time since he'd figured out who his dream lover was, Dean felt calm and as if everything would turn out right. He murmured, "The door."

His lover smiled at him, then glanced at the door. It swung shut and Dean heard the lock click. "Nice touch," he sighed as his neck was nuzzled.

Yeah, he should have been freaked out, but somehow he'd known the dreams he'd been having had been true, had known Sam would come for him since he'd known what sex was. And, oh, man, had it been worth it. All those dates that had ended with nothing more than a chaste kiss good night, all that effort to make everyone think he was a stud on wheels when he seldom even got the chance to jerk off – he groaned softly as Sam entered him and knew, oh, yes, he knew it had all been really, really, really worth it.

He fought coming for as long as he dared with his father and little brother a thin wall and dubious lock away, but he was a teenager and that wasn't a very long time. Another soft groan marked his climax and a second later Sam stiffened as he spilled his seed into Dean. He expected Sam to fade away in the next instant, but he didn't. Instead Sam propped himself up on his elbows and looked down into Dean's face. His voice low, he said "You told me I needed to be here tonight."

Dean smiled knowing "you" meant his future-self, who was probably waiting impatiently for his lover to return. "I give good birthday presents," he whispered back.

Sam smiled and kissed him again. "That wasn't the present."

"Then what is?"

"He wanted me to give you a message."

"Yeah?"

"He said to tell you that there were some really rough times ahead, but to keep the faith. We'll get it right eventually."

Dean frowned. "How far away is eventually?"

Another kiss landed on the tip of his nose. "Sorry, babe, can't tell you. I've already pushed the limits of the spell as far as they'll go without some serious payback. Just be patient. And don't give up on us."

He didn't like the sound of any of this. Well, except for the promise that it would work out. Eventually.

"Dean?"

"I won't. And don't call me 'babe.'"

Sam smirked and Dean just knew that he'd said those words for the first of many, many times. "Bastard."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah, I do," he answered. "Kiss me again?"

Sam smiled, then gave him a long, deep kiss. When their lips parted again, he gave Dean a long look. "I've got a message of my own."

"Yeah?"

"You're not a virgin anymore, Dean. You don't have to wait alone. Let the dreams go and get on with your life until we get our act together."

The very idea appalled Dean. "No way, Sammy. No one gets me but you."

"Dean-"

"Forget it."

Sam sighed. "Even when I'm the oldest you're still a stubborn know-it-all." He looked at Dean with such regret that Dean could hear the long speech about wishing he could find a way to stop the dreams from ever happening.

This time Dean kissed him to keep him quiet. Dean had no regrets. Maybe he should have, just like he should have been freaking out over a visit from future-stud, but he couldn't. Since Dad had charged Dean with getting Sam out of the fire, Sammy had been everything to him. There wasn't any room for anyone else in his life or in his body. He'd wait.

"In a couple of days, this will fade into another dream, but try to remember what I said."

Not the best news – that this would all seem like another dream. If nothing else, he would have loved to hang on to the feeling of rightness. He was getting damned tired of fighting the urge to vomit every morning. Still, he said, "Not gonna happen. I love you."

A sad smile, another kiss, then Sam vanished.

After a few moments, Dean got up and dressed while enjoying the sweet ache in his ass that would allow him to know none of it had been his imagination until it faded. Hard to believe the brat was going to turn into such a hunk, but Dean could be a patient man when need be. He would wait and he would not give up hope. In the meantime, he needed to get out there and kick his little brother's tail in Battleship.

**II. Freaking Out**

"I told you before, it doesn't freak me out." Dean Winchester wondered what it was about him that his efforts at projecting complete sincerity fell flatter than someone caught by a gravity demon.

His younger brother glared at him. "Stop patronizing me, damnit!" he hissed not breaking his stride as he paced back and forth through yet another slightly seedy hotel room.

Dean sighed heavily. A zillion nasty things that went bump in the night out there and he found himself wishing that the one thing that fantasy writers had totally made up was prophetic dreams. How lame was that? But then he knew how to fight something big and nasty. Wasn't a damned thing he could do to ease his brother's anxiety over yet another dream.

Then again, he wasn't quite certain why this particular occasion warranted a meltdown. "Really not seeing the problem here, Sammy," he said. Sam's dreams had sent them to Farmingham, Wyoming this time -- another Rawhead on the prowl. They'd shocked the sucker into the next life – without sending Dean to the ER, thank you very much – and ended all threat to life and limb. Cue the happily ever afters. Except the kid insisted on a post-job fit over his case of the "differents."

Sam glared at him. "Of course you don't! You're not the one dreaming about people dying and being terrified you won't get there in time to save them!"

Yeah, well, Dean had to admit that had to suck big time. "No, I'm not. Still doesn't mean I'm lying about not being freaked out."

Dean might have gotten out of this conversation with his dignity in one piece if Sam had continued down the snit-path. Nothing worse than Sammy throwing a fit and Dean had little patience for it. Few more minutes of it, five tops, and he'd have been out the door until Sam chilled. Instead Sam suddenly deflated and skipped into totally-defeated-and-all-alone-in-the-world mode. Shit.

"Sorry," Sam said, sinking down into the one chair in the tacky room. "I shouldn't take it out on you. I know you're just trying to make me feel better."

"True. Still doesn't mean I'm lying though." He hoped to get back the near-temper tantrum.

Sam looked even sadder. "Dean, please," he said his eyes glowing with near tears.

The moment to escape vanished with the watery shimmer. And suddenly Sam wasn't the only one with a pretty clear vision of a gloom and doom near-future. Well, they say that the truth will set you free. If nothing else it would get Sam pissed off again. Dean sighed and said, "Dude, I do understand. I've had freaky dreams since I was thirteen."

"That's not funny."

"Got that right. Doesn't change the fact that I've had 'em."

Sam looked like he wanted to believe him, but then he shook his head. "You'd have said something before this."

"Not the sharing kind of dreams."

That got him a raised eyebrow. "What kind of dreams are we talking about?"

"…"

"Dean?"

"The personal kind."

Sam frowned. "You mean sex dreams? You've had prophetic sex dreams?"

He nodded and hoped against hope that would shut this miserable conversation down. But he so seldom got the things he hoped for. Except the part about getting Sam angry again. He got that part in spades.

"You sonofabitch!" Sam shouted, leaping to his feet. "Are you seriously comparing my visions with previews of who you're going to fuck next?"

Well, this was headed south fast. "Sam-"

"I don't believe you! No wonder you always get the girls you go after; you only go after the ones you already know you'll get!"

Somehow Sam made it sound so slimy that Dean couldn't stop himself from shaking his head. "Isn't like that."

Sam snorted in disgust. "Right. You are such a slut!"

It shouldn't have bothered him. After all, he'd carefully cultivated just that reputation, but there was such an obvious edge of jealousy in Sam's voice that Dean couldn't help answering, "I'm not a slut, Sammy. I'm a …." Nope, not gonna say that word. Not enough money in the world. Nope, no way. "I'm monogamous."

Both eyebrows rose this time. "Monogamous? You?"

He nodded.

Sam laughed. "Oh, yeah, right. Maybe if you define monogamy as 'one girl per town.'"

"I flirt, Sam, and I made a point of letting you and Dad think I do more than that, but that's it."

He expected Sam to give him more of a fight, but his eyes narrowed into a glare that radiated jealousy. "Who is it? Cassie?" he demanded going straight from denial to wanting details. Lady Luck was being a real bitch tonight.

"No," he answered, although she had come the closest to changing his weird status quo. "I tried a couple of times, but we never managed more than a few awkward conversations about … performance issues."

"Then who?"

Mentally he took a deep breath, then let most of the cat out of the bag. "Dude in my dreams."

Sam blinked, then his eyes widened in what looked like pure horror. "Dean. …"

For a brief second Dean thought he'd decided to go all it's-a-sin on him, then the proverbial penny dropped. Oh, shit. Trust Sammy to leap to the wrong conclusion. Not to mention how insulting was it that he could possibly think that anyone could touch Dean without his whole-hearted cooperation? "Not what I meant. He's … never touched me. … In the real world."

Crap. Somehow Sam's eyes got even wider and wasn't it just Dean's luck that this time Sam leapt to the right conclusion. "Dude, are you trying to tell me that you're a virg-"

"I'm monogamous," he hissed through gritted teeth. A twenty-seven-year old virgin was plain pathetic in Dean's book. He, on the other hand, had been in a satisfying long-term relationship.

Sam started to smile, but it faded into a frown. "All you've ever had is a dream?"

Well, this whole conversation was going from bad to disaster. Sam actually pitied him. The very idea rattled Dean, but he tried to shrug it off. "It's all I've wanted."

"Dean, it's not healthy."

The irony of that made Dean want to laugh. Or vomit. He did neither. "Some dreams aren't meant to be prophetic." Just pathetic.

Sam hugged him. He fucking hugged him. Dean put a quick end to that by doing a decent job of leaping halfway across the room. Backwards. "I don't need your sympathy, Sam!" Now it was his turn to get angry. Or cry. Angry worked better for him. "I just wanted you to know I _really_ do have an idea of what you're going through."

But Sam, being Sam, couldn't let it go. "Maybe if you talked to someone. …"

A shrink? Oh, that'd work. The _least_ of it all was that he hunted down monsters. He started talking to a dude in a white coat and he'd end up so full of drugs he'd never resurface. Why had he said anything? Why had he leapt at some crumb of jealousy? It was a little brother's nature to be jealous of anything or anyone that took attention away from him. It didn't mean anything. It didn't! Dean sank down onto the edge of the bed and let his head fall into his hands. "I'm such an idiot," he muttered.

And there was sympathetic-Sammy sitting down beside him right on cue. This was bad on so many levels Dean didn't even know where to start. So he started at the beginning. "I had the first one when I had my first wet dream," he said, then told Sam the rest.

At least it had seemed like his first wet dream. He really couldn't remember if he'd had any earlier ones so if he'd had 'em, they'd been less than notable. Anyway, he'd been sleeping away, dreaming of the usual monsters under the bed and how to off 'em, when suddenly things shifted and a man was walking through shadows toward him. Dean had never seen him before, but one thing had been perfectly clear. "He was fucking gorgeous."

The good thing about a dream was you were too busy sleeping to go ballistic over discovering you were gay. No denial, no outrage – nothing but the best looking guy he'd ever seen taking Dean into his arms and kissing him.

He blushed. "At thirteen that was enough to make me come so I woke up." Then he did the denial and outrage stuff. Since there was no one else around beyond a baby brother sleeping blissfully away in the next bed, he kept it brief and to himself. All in all it hadn't really been too much of a shock. He'd already noticed a tendency to not get the whole "breasts are so cool" bit the other boys his age where into. So he'd worried some, seethed some, then moved on. "I had the same dream the next night." And the next.

The dream kept going without variation for a few weeks, then things got more interesting. He gave Sam a slight smile. "I didn't know half the shit he started doing to me so I began to figure out it was more than my imagination." Didn't change his decision to keep his mouth shut -- all Dad needed was to find out he had a gay son on top of all the other shit they dealt with.

"Didn't bother me much though – the figuring out the guy was real part. I did some reading up on the subject and decided he was someone I'd hook up with down the line. Until then … well, I had four years of really great sex." Sure it hadn't been real come dawn's early light, but all he had to do to scratch an itch was take a nap. He'd dated to keep up appearances and for the company, but he'd never put the moves on a girl and Dad had always uprooted them before any whispers about his being too perfect a gentleman could get him into a bad spot. Only real problem he had was keeping Sam from noticing the "fallout" whenever they had to share a bed. "Good thing you've always been a heavy sleeper."

Sam gave him a look that suggested no one was that heavy of a sleeper. Before Dean could find the time to blush, Sam asked the inevitable question, "What happened after four years?"

Dean's gaze shifted to the carpet between his feet, steeled himself for the explosion, then told the truth, "You had a growth spurt and grew out your hair."

One second, two, three, four, fi- "It was me."

Perceptive as ever, that was his Sammy. A very quiet Sammy – Dean had expected a lot of yelling and at least a punch in the jaw by this time. He cleared his throat. "Yeah, it was you. I got so damned sick when I figured it out." He'd woke up with the usual damp boxers and had run for the bathroom – puked up his guts until there was nothing left in his stomach, then had the dry heaves all through a long shower. Couldn't keep anything down for days and Dad had finally taken him to the local emergency room. They'd pumped him full of drugs to stop the vomiting, but he'd never woken up again without feeling like hurling.

"That's when you bought the sleeping bag."

He nodded. After that first horrible morning he'd never slept in the same bed with Sam again. He'd said he couldn't get comfortable sleeping with jolly-green-giant boy. Sam had looked hurt, but Dad had bought the lie since Sam did take up a hell of a lot of the bed space.

Freaking out didn't begin to cover how Dean had felt during the next four years. Sam was always at his side – his aggravating, but mostly loveable baby brother – and that felt sick and wrong, but it was the adult-version in his dreams he wanted, not the kid. He never had a single impure thought about the kid, and it allowed him to live with himself, but every day Sam moved further and further from little brother to the man Dean loved was another day that really creeped Dean out. To say the least it had been hell. "Truth is I was kind of relieved when you split for college." Of course, he'd also been hurt and angry. That part of his near-split personality had let him go to Sam for help when Dad had vanished. A mistake on so many levels.

He stood up. "I'm sorry." Sam had lost Jessica and now any illusions that his brother was a good man. Going to Stanford had been the worst decision Dean had ever made. Well, at least it had been until he'd started this conversation. What the hell had he been thinking? Fuck, he deserved to be alone and Sam deserved a better life than this one.

Doing a great job of spinning this disaster into the noblest thing he'd ever done, Dean headed to the door. His hand closed on the knob, but Sam said, "Dean."

He stopped, then let his forehead rest on the door. Get the last of it out. Get it over with. "Thing is, Sam, I had to know all along it was you – a nose is a nose is a nose and all that – I just enjoyed it too much to let myself know it until a freaking blind man couldn't have missed it." And he had the nerve to think of a demon as a monster. Pot, kettle and he so needed to get the hell out of here.

"Dean, where are you going?"

"There's a pool hall up the road. I'll try to hustle enough to get you a plane ticket to where ever you want to go." Probably end up getting beat up instead of earning the cash, but it sounded better than saying he wanted to get blind drunk. "I'll crash in the car when I'm done."

"Where were we the first time I kissed you?"

Both the question and the calmness of Sam's voice made him blink. "What?"

"Could you tell where we were?"

"Some crappy hotel room I guess."

"Like this one?"

How the hell did he know? "One blurs into the next, dude."

"Okay, what about my clothes. You remember what I was wearing?"

"Jeans, no shirt. What? You think if you never wear jeans or take off your shirt again you'll be safe?"

"Who said I wanted to be safe?"

Dean turned around in time to see Sam's shirt flutter to the floor. As they'd talked the sun had started going down casting the room in shadows and one veiled Sam's face. And Dean remembered. Not a room like this, but _this_ room. And he remembered one particularly vivid dream on his eighteenth birthday when everything had been perfect. "Sammy?"

"I thought I'd given myself away when you bought that sleeping bag. I thought you knew I wanted you."

He swallowed hard. "You saying that's why you left? Because I drove you away?"

Sam shook his head. "No, but if I'd known what was going on I'd have fucked your brains out until you were too stupid to say no when I asked you to come with me."

Something between "Oh" and "Dad would have loved that" got stuck in Dean's brain and he simply stared at his brother.

Sam walked towards him with a confident sexy swagger that made Dean hard. It also kicked loose a brain cell or two. "What about Jess?"

Didn't even make Sam pause. He cupped Dean's face in his hands. "I loved her, but she was always making the best of Plan B."

Dean knew the feeling, although his own attempt at Plan B had been less successful. Of course, Cassie was still alive so he doubted she had too many complaints. "So what's Plan A?"

"I fuck your brains out because a twenty-seven-year-old virgin is sexy, but twenty-eight? That's just sad."

"Asshole," Dean muttered, then Sam kissed him. To his utter embarrassment, Dean came before Sam even got his tongue in Dean's mouth.

Sam chuckled, kissed him again, then started doing other things. Come morning, Dean woke in his lover's arms and for the first time in ten years he greeted the sun with a smile.

**III. Enough Is Enough**

Sam Winchester could take a lot. Visions, on-again-off-again telekinesis, demons, spirits – he figured he could take just about anything this side of the Apocalypse. But the one thing he had absolutely no patience with was his brother lying to him. And Sam was beginning to suspect Dean had been doing just that for years. No one thing had made him suspicious, although oddly enough meeting the one woman who seemed to have actually meant something to Dean had moved him from suspicion to near certainty. Which brought him to the reason he was watching his brother escort yet another pretty waitress home.

He told himself that he was merely looking out for Dean, who wasn't quite back to 100 percent after their encounter with the Benders, but he wasn't good at lying to himself so he knew he was simply spying. Fortunately the lovely redhead lived within a block of the diner so Dean didn't have time to pick up on the fact he was being followed. That wouldn't have gone over too well.

Sam watched her open her apartment door and turn to Dean with an expectant look on her face. He said something Sam couldn't hear, gave her a peck on the cheek, then turned to leave. Sam got one brief glimpse of her stunned face before he had to duck to avoid Dean seeing him. But he'd seen all he needed to and jogged back to their hotel room with a smirk on his face.

As he'd also expected an hour slipped by before he heard Dean's key in the lock. Where his brother had gone to pass the time Sam didn't know, but his walked into the room wearing his usual I-got-lucky-tonight-and-you-didn't smirk.

Sam glanced up from his book long enough to give the required roll of his eyes.

"Sammy, Sammy, there's more to life than just books," Dean teased.

Sam resisted saying something along the lines of how would you know and opted for the usual, "I'm not the three-girls-in-every-town type."

Dean chuckled, then announced, "I need a shower."

As Dean moved past him on the way to the bathroom, Sam caught a whiff of stall cigarette smoke – probably been in a bar or a pool hall – but he absolutely did not smell of sex. As a kid Sam hadn't noticed, but now he knew what a "successful hunt" smelled like. He guessed that more than anything else had made him suspicious. It had just taken some time for his mind to accept that the incredible might also be the possible.

Neither of them were ones for long showers – too many broken down hotels with faulty water heaters in their past to get into that habit – but by the time his towel-clad brother emerged from the bathroom Sam had things set up.

Dean stopped in the doorway and looked from the towel in Sam's hand to the large bottle of baby oil on the bedside table and didn't make his usual beeline towards his bag and a clean change of clothes. He gave Sam a hopeful look.

Sam smiled and nodded. "I figured you could use a good rubdown." Therapeutic massage had been a skill both of them had mastered and, given the life they led, often used.

"Yeah, I am still stiff," Dean admitted, something he would only do when sweet relief beckoned.

No kidding. Dean thought he hid any weakness well, but Sam knew how he moved and it was painfully obvious to him. "So lie down."

Dean smiled, then, careful to keep his towel in place, he stretched out face down on the bed Sam indicated.

Because he did know his brother needed the massage and he also needed Dean fuzzy around the edges for his plan to work, Sam poured oil onto his hands then went to work on Dean's back. It didn't surprise him at all to discover how tight the muscles were. "We shouldn't have driven so long today."

A soft murmur was Dean's only answer. Sam knew enough to translate it as "You know we had to keep moving and damn that feels good."

He glared at the back of Dean's head. "We're two states away now and it's been over a week. No one's looking for us and you know it."

This time Dean did rally enough to answer, "Better safe than sorry. The Benders still might talk. Besides you did most of the driving."

Sam smiled. There was almost an accusation in Dean's voice. The man loved his car and never willing went long without driving it. Sam hadn't let him drive for longer than an hour at a time in the last few days and not at all until the burn on his chest had done some healing. "Hey, someone has to look after you."

He saw the corner of Dean's mouth drop into a frown. "Supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around."

Sore point there and Dean's muscles had tightened up despite the push of Sam's talented hands. He'd come to save Sam and Sam had ended up saving himself, then rescuing Dean from a demented little girl with a knife. "I'm all grown up now, Dean," he said softly, using his voice as well as his touch to make him relax. "We can take turns playing knight-in-shining armor."

The implication that they would also have to take turns as the damsel-in-distress made Dean's mouth twitch into a smile. "Just as long as I don't have to wear a dress."

"You sure? You'd look good in pink satin."

"Asshole."

Sam laughed and kept rubbing. He stopped talking to concentrate on what he was doing as well as to let Dean drift. Inch by inch the tension left the muscles and he soon had Dean on the verge of purring. "Lift your hips up," he said once he finished with the back and arms.

It said a lot for his skill that Dean obeyed without protest, but he yelped when Sam pulled the towel free. "What the fuck!"

"Need to get those thigh muscles, bro," Sam soothed him and went right to work. This time the tension he found made him smile. Did about as much as anything would to let him know that his second suspicion might also be right.

"Oh." The single sound conveyed a lot of displeasure at the idea, but he didn't fight Sam. Be hard to do that and not sound weird. Sam had counted on that. But first things first. He had a massage to finish. He started at the top of Dean's thighs and worked his way down. By the time he reached his brother's calves, Dean's state of blissful relaxation had returned.

Sam reached the point where the massage finished, but he kept rubbing Dean's foot. "So did you have a nice time with the waitress?" he asked.

 

"Mmm," Dean made an affirmative sound.

"Your usual sort of date?"

"Mmm."

"Nothing remarkable about it?"

"Uuh huh."

He let the foot go, then leaned down. "Tell me if I do anything you don't want," he whispered into Dean's ear.

"What?"

He planted a kiss on the back of Dean's neck, then one on each shoulder blade before shifting his hands to the delectable ass he'd forced himself to ignore throughout the massage.

"Sammy?" Dean squeaked when oily hands settled on his asscheeks.

"Shhh," Sam hushed him, rubbing the firm globes.

Dean shifted, but didn't pull away, and Sam grinned figuring Dean's cock was pressing into the mattress.

He circled Dean's opening with an oily finger, then eased the first joint inside. "Anyone ever been in here before?"

Dean gasped and pushed upward. "Only in my dreams."

Sam allowed the rest of his finger to disappear inside Dean, then he carefully added a second and began to stretch him. "You're cock ever been inside anything but your own fist?"

Another gasp, then a very soft, "No."

A grin of pure glee spread across Sam's face. He'd been right. His big, bad stud of a brother had never had sex before. He added a third finger. "Sounds like we've got a lot of first times ahead of us, dude."

Dean shuddered, then whimpered when Sam pulled his fingers out. "Get up on your knees," Sam told him while he quickly stripped off his clothes.

He watched Dean shift up, the spread his knees wide. Sam groaned and had to stop spreading the oil on his cock long enough to grip the base of it to keep himself from coming at the very sight of Dean's ready ass in the air.

Gripping Dean's hips, he positioned himself then began the slow push inside. Dean's body yielded easily as if he'd waited for this moment all his life. And suddenly Sam knew that's exactly what Dean had done. It had to be this way. Dean would have died of old age before he'd even have thought of making the first move – he was that protective of Sam, that unwilling to use any power he might have as the older brother against him. "I love you," Sam whispered, leaning over his back to nuzzle his neck. "I really, really love you."

Dean whimpered and his ass tightened around Sam's cock as if he were afraid of losing it. "Sammy." The near reverence in Dean's voice was the greatest declaration of love Sam had ever heard.

He bit his lip and his eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, I never should have waited this long."

Dean stiffened, then said, "Let me on my back."

Just that fast older brother was back in the building. Sam frowned. "It's more comfortable to do it the first time this way."

"Sam!"

Right, not going to win when Dean got that tone. Grumbling, he pulled out, hauled his brother over onto his back, then got back inside of him as quick as he could.

Dean grunted, the sound of mild discomfort quelling Sam's momentary irritation and the first touch of their lips was as much apology as kiss. Dean wrapped is arms and legs around Sam's torso, then said, "Stop worrying about the fucking past and fuck me."

Sam had to smile. "God, you're sexy when you're bossy."

A glower settled onto Dean's face. "Get used to it. I intend to be a very pushy bottom."

Sam kissed him again. "I had no doubts."

"Less talk, more fucking."

He had to laugh, but he began to thrust. The ability to speak vanished and soon there was nothing beyond the rhythm of their bodies and Sam's determination to make up for years of lost time.

end

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the real title of this is _3 Ways Dean Lost his Virginity to Sam._ Sometimes I watch the stud of the show go through the motions and just can't help myself. … ; >


End file.
